


A Different Brand of Love

by Jarakrisafis



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Light BDSM, Restraints, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27803608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: Rica knows Bhelen appreciates her. But sometimes she just wishes he'd be more like the rest of the Nobles she's met. A little more forceful and controlling. A little more in command. A little less considerate. Just once in a while.
Relationships: Bhelen Aeducan/Rica Brosca
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	A Different Brand of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Manka for the perfect title (and not for the first time either, you title Goddess)

Rica knows Bhelen appreciates her, and stone bless him, he tries so hard not to make anything an order. He's always so aware that he's so far above her in Orzammar's social structure that he doesn't ask anything of her beyond what she's willing to give. Which is appreciated, she loves him for that. But sometimes she just wishes he'd be more like the rest of the Nobles she's met. A little more forceful and controlling. A little more in command. A little less considerate. Just once in a while.

It's taken her months to gather the courage to ask and now she can't tell if he's upset or not. He's gone so very still, the way he does when he's deep in thought over some letter he has to send or a deal he's making. He finally raises his head from the sheet she'd given him. It took far longer than her rough letters would justify - she knows that while it's not elegant it is completely legible. "Rica love, are you sure?" His concern is endearing...

Normally.

"Very sure." She says firmly.

She can see him change as he sets the paper down. Shoulders back, head up, and the haughty smirk settling on his face. This is what everybody else sees; the King of Orzammar. "Come here, brand." He spits the epithet out like it's something she should be ashamed of. 

He knows how much she hates that term. She raises her chin, fire in her eyes as anticipation lights a fire inside her. "Make me."

There's a faint hesitation, a moment of indecision before it's gone and he's moving. She steps back, sliding out of his grasp with an elbow to his ribs.

His chuckle is low, menacing, "that was not a clever choice."

His second attempt is faster, arm snapping out to grasp her. She tries to fight him but her resistance is short-lived. She forgets that, with how gentle he is with her, and no matter that he prefers to fight with words, he _is_ trained with various weapons and he wears armour for long portions of the day. He has an easy strength that forces her to her knees, one hand tangled in her hair, the other at her throat. There's a burning anger in his eyes as he looks down at her and she shivers. "Disobey me again and you will regret it. You will address me with respect." His words roll over her, rough and full of promise.

Perhaps in the future she'll test that. See exactly how far she can push him. Not tonight though. "Yes, your Majesty."

He tightens his hand around her throat; a warning, nothing more, before he lets go. "Strip."

She's glad she chose a dress that fastens at the front, though buttons are not the easiest to undo, especially not the cleverly hidden double row that keeps everything in place. It's also one of the few she owns that doesn't require help to get in and out of as it's actually a skirt and bodice rather than a full dress. She does miss the simpler clothing from dust town occasionally, even if she greatly enjoys the luxury of fine cloth.

He's patient, watching her work. Given what she’d written, she almost expected him to just tear it off. She has a couple of dresses that have needed buttons stitching back on when he's gotten impatient at the twentieth button that he had to undo; and that's on a normal evening. She lets the bodice section fall to the floor and unlaces the skirt before standing to step out of it with a sway of her hips.

His eyes follow her body; a pleased smirk curling one corner of his mouth up. "No smallclothes, how practical of you." 

She lets a coy smile settle on her face, the same one she used to use when approaching Nobles. "Of course, Sire."

"Go lie on the bed. On your back." She waits a moment, in case there's any more instructions forthcoming, before going to do as he's ordered, stretching out on the fur and settling down with a sigh of contentment and a long stretch that arches her back off the bed, conveniently giving him a very nice view of her best assets, before she wiggles into a comfortable spot.

"Touch yourself, you should know how to put on a show by now." She lets a lazy smile curl up the edges of her mouth as she slowly licks a finger and trails it down her body. 

His eyes don't leave her as he undresses; watching with a searing gaze as she lets her hands roam. Gently cupping a breast, fingers flickering over her nipple before twisting, then dragging her palm down her body and lifting her hips into it. A slight cant of her body to angle towards him and she slides a finger over her cunt before bringing it to her lips, tongue curling around it. Her other hand she brushes over her clit, rocking into her hand. His eyes follow the motion, his cock already hardening as he frees it from his breeches.

He climbs onto the bed, looming over her. One hand closes tightly on her wrist, raising it to his mouth. He cleans her fingers, sucking on each one before putting her hand down over her head. "Hold the headboard." He says as he repeats the motion with her other hand and lifts it to join the first. "And you don't let go until I say you can. Understood?"

"Yes sire." She curls her fingers round the bottom of the headboard, between the mattress and the smooth wood she's appreciated so many times because it doesn't get as cold as stone does.

He smiles. It's not a reassuring expression. It just heightens that strange mix of fear and lust that she loves. She hadn't realised until now how much she's missed it.

His fingers dance over her skin, trailing softly until she tries to raise herself off the bed into the infuriatingly light touch. A warm hand presses her down - she doesn't try to cover the moan it drags from her throat when her attempt to oppose the motion just drives her further into the mattress as he leans more of his weight onto her.

She may have miscalculated - though certainly not in a bad way. She's only ever done this with strangers. Bhelen knows her body in a way they never could. An unfair advantage one could argue. He knows that the shell of her ear is sensitive. That she'll go still and pliant when he trails fingers down her jaw and around her throat. 

"Bhelen. Please." She needs him. Needs to be touched, to be used. She's aching for him and he's teasing her.

The crack of flesh on flesh is loud and the pain follows a moment after, a fiery point on her thigh. Her eyes fly open to stare at him, shock stealing her breath away. And his hands wrap around her wrists, tight enough she may bruise, and she belatedly realises that she's no longer grasping the headboard like a lifeline.

"Would you like to try that again?" He asks, a smirk drawing one side of his mouth up as he transfers her arms into one of his hands, his other soothes over where it made contact.

"I'm sorry Sire, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." She says, until he cuts her off with a hand over her mouth.

"Turn over."

She shuffles around, yelping as he pulls her hips off the bed and delivers a smack to her ass. "Don't move." She braces herself, unsure what he's planning and not wanting to risk his ire to turn and look as he leaves the bed.

The last thing she expects is to have him wrap leather cuffs around her wrists and fasten them together and then to the headboard. She didn't even know he had them. She tugs at the chain, neither it nor the leather giving in any way, despite how soft it feels against her skin.

"You need to remember your place," he says, palm settling on her ass. She waits, trembling slightly when he doesn't move, her breath is loud in the silence. "Do you know where you belong, brand?"

"Yes sire."

She feels the sting and burn before she registers he's moved, and she can't stop the flinch at the gentle touch that soothes her again. "That's not an answer."

What does he want? Which answer should she give? There's so many options and she needs to find what he wants her to say. It's a familiar dance. Finding the right thing to say to the Nobles to puff up their egos.

She yelps as his hand comes down sharply on her other ass cheek. "Don't keep me waiting."

She turns her head, twisting her body until she can give him another of her carefully crafted smiles and flutter of her lashes, "I belong to you, wherever you want me sire."

He hums softly. "Who would have thought, a brand that knows their place."

Hands tug her thighs further apart. She's more than ready for him, warm and slick, yet he shows none of his usual care. Instead she scrabbles at the bed as he takes her with an almost brutal lack of consideration.

She gasps, bracing her hands against the wall as every thrust slams her forwards. She can feel his fingers digging into her hips as he realises she's not got the strength to keep herself in place. His breathing, already loud, gets more and more unsteady.

She's missed this. Missed feeling the raw strength holding her in place. And it's somehow even better now than it ever was before - the part of her that was always afraid they might go a little too far is silent because she trusts Bhelen.

She winces as his grip tightens and he lets himself collapse onto her back as he cums.

"Such a good girl." He mutters when he sits up, pulling out, and rolling off the bed. He stretches with a pleased sound and ambles over to his dresser to get a drink as she watches him.

"Sire?" She asks, a sudden fear that he might actually leave her like this filling her. It's ridiculous, she knows that, but she can't help check. It wouldn't be the first time Nobles wouldn't care about a dust town whore's pleasure.

He glances over his shoulder as he fills a mug with water. "Hush, I'm not finished with you."

There's a moment when she is sure she can see her lover peering at her and she realises he's needing as much reassurance as she is. She smiles back before ducking her head so she's barely seeing him from under her lashes. "I'm looking forward to it, sire."

His shoulders relax and a smirk curls up one side of his lips, his eyes sparkling with a barely hidden glee as he brings the mug over to her. He unclips the chain from the headboard so she can sit up and holds the mug up so she can drink, given that she can't take it off him with her hands bound. "Good, because the night is still young."


End file.
